Nature , the terrible, cruel, deaf, malign!
So men have named her in their vague alarm,
Who know her outward only. Never harm
Came to the soul that read her secret sign,
Lived her pure laws, and dreamed her dream benign,
That broodeth eternal ever kind and warm,
With rare imagination's ancient charm,
Where all her lores and kindred loves entwine.

Not hers the working of blind woes and ills,
Unanswered hunger and the futile breath
Of wasted suffering and unneeded death;—
Behind the formless mask, the seeming strife,
Bound by a law as old as her own hills,
She is a spirit, and her joy is life.